Alibi
by Cerae56
Summary: "That face… He remembered it clearly now, that last look at the man in the moonlight, the man who Sherlock had seen drown Zachary Wells. It was him, and he was sitting here suspected of murdering someone else..." University!AU; Case fic. Johnlock. No spoilers.
1. Monday, Dec 14, part 1: The Beginning

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my new story! I won't talk your ear off; I just wanted to let you know ahead of time that: 1) This is an AU which takes place during Sherlock's time at university. As such, it does not contain any season 4 spoilers but does include cocaine use. 2) I am American, and while I try my best to make the characters sound like themselves, certain slang/colloquial words may be incorrect. I apologize and if you notice any glaring ones, feel free to let me know and I'll try to fix it. And of course, feel free to leave any other questions/comments/criticism in a review! Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was not merely high on the night that Zachary Wells drowned in the local lake. No, he was, in fact, so far beyond "high;" he was soaring on different planes of existence, feeling colors, lost in spiraling thoughts. The word "high" did not begin to cover how supremely fucked-up he was.

He was walking back to his residence hall, but stopped near the lake, his drug-addled brain trying to convince him that it was a good idea to go for a spontaneous midnight swim alone in the dark and fully dressed. He might have done it, too, except that he saw two people already standing on the edge of the water. Sherlock, being rather averse to social interaction even when he had the mental capacity to behave like a law-abiding citizen, decided to keep his distance.

He was, however, a people-watcher by nature and stayed a minute to flex his deductive muscles. They were both male, and though such a rendezvous initially implied lovers, their demeanors were tense and suggested they were fighting. Sherlock could only see their shadows, but could tell from the shorter man's stance that he was a strong but unaggressive man…

Sherlock's eyebrows raised when the man suddenly shoved the taller one into the water. Had he been wrong? Was the short man violent by nature?

It occurred to him then that he hadn't yet heard voices. He was some distance away, but if the two fighting men had been yelling, he would have heard them clearly. The fight was clearly escalating- where was the yelling?

At first, Sherlock was comforted when he saw the shorter man crouch down next to the water, extending his arm out to the other man. "See," thought Sherlock, "the violent outburst was unlike him, because you were right about him, because you always are. They're making up now. He must be apologizing, pulling him out of the water. They'll go back to their boring lives."

Except that the second man didn't emerge from the water as the seconds passed. The first man's hand was reaching out.

And Sherlock would blame it on the cocaine that it took him this long to realize that the hand the shorter man was holding out was not seeking the other's hand but holding his head down under the water.

And maybe, if not for the cocaine, Sherlock would have done something about it rather than just standing back and thinking about how interesting the whole thing was. But instead, he watched the surprisingly still scene for a few more minutes, until the man by the lake stood up and walked away. Sherlock could see no evidence of the body on the surface of the water yet, but it was shallow- once the search started, it wouldn't take long.

The man- the _killer_ \- did not walk in Sherlock's direction as he left, nor did he turn to look at him. But when he passed through the moonlight, Sherlock was able to see a glimpse of his face. It was no one he recognized. He was nice-looking but not in a committed relationship, Sherlock deduced. Short blonde hair; had played a sport in high school but not anymore. It was hard to get much more about him from this distance. He didn't appear to be on drugs or alcohol, but he did not have the anger or fear one might expect on the face of someone who had just killed a man either. If anything, he seemed anxious, looking around as though he was unsure what to do next. Then he was gone, running back into the darkness, and Sherlock turned the other way. At home, he lay in bed riding his high until he crashed into a deep sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, he remembered nothing of what he'd seen.

Sherlock arrived at the station on Monday with a clear head and a working dose of cocaine running through his bloodstream. Saturday he'd spent getting high, Sunday he'd spent coming down, and he was glad to have been called onto a case- he was getting bored.

He strode over to the desk where Lestrade was working and rapped his knuckles against the surface.

Lestrade glanced up. "Not now, Sherlock. I have paperwork to sign."

"You requested my help, Lestrade- if I am inconveniencing you I can return to my studies."

"Oh, don't throw a fit. It'll only take a minute. Some kid drowned in the lake on Saturday night."

Memories flooded Sherlock- he hadn't deleted them, but they had been lost in the haze of his high. Even now, they came back in distant flashes. A crouching shadow, arm held out over the water, pressing a head down. That shadow turning to the light- but that face was so blurry. "Drowned?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Zachary Wells. Went to your university- you know him?"

"No…" _I think I witnessed his murder while high on cocaine_ didn't seem like a viable answer. "How did he drown?"

"He had too much to drink and thought he'd go for a swim. I have to sign off that no foul play is suspected."

What to do now? Any confession of what he saw would quickly lead to questions he couldn't answer- sure, he could claim he was 'out for a walk' but there was no reason for a sober man, especially one who is known to work with law enforcement, to not report such a crime right away.

"You can do it later. This is boring," Sherlock tried. "Are you going to update me on the murder case or not?"

Lestrade sighed but set his pen down. "Callie Rogers, stabbed in her dorm room on Saturday between 10 and 11 pm, most likely sometime around 10:15."

"How on Earth would you know that specifically?"

Lestrade turned to his computer and showed Sherlock some security footage, a mere second-long clip of a door flying open and then slamming shut. The way the door opened into the hall, swinging towards the camera, made it impossible to see the person standing behind it. "This happened at 10:15 exactly. We believe that it may show Callie trying to escape- but…"

"But she is caught and killed before she can even scream for help." Sherlock said bluntly. He had no time for Lestrade's euphemisms- his curiosity had been captured. Not just by this case, but by this foggy memory coming back to him. He could remember getting home at 10:30 that night, and he lived 15-20 minutes away from the lake depending on his pace. Had two murders truly taken place within minutes of each other? What did that mean? But of course, Lestrade interrupted his thoughts.

"There's no audio- what makes you think she didn't scream?"

"Well it's a bloody dorm hall Lestrade, if she'd screamed someone would have come. Look at the video- no one even walks into the hall to investigate."

"Her best friend found her on Sunday morning," Lestrade admitted. "She didn't have a roommate. So you're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," Sherlock scoffed quietly. "Is there any particular reason you called me in for this case?"

"One of them locked-door cases, isn't it? There's only one door in and no one comes in or out anywhere near the time of the murder."

"Did the victim live so high up that a ladder wouldn't reach her window?"

"First floor, actually, but the windows don't open more than a few centimeters. What do you make of that?"

Lestrade clearly expected Sherlock to be stymied, so Sherlock maybe found a little pleasure in keeping his face passive and saying, "The murderer was either stalking Callie or, much more likely, knew her. Is there a suspect fitting that description at this time?"

"Uh… yeah. There's a friend of hers in the interrogation room right now. Sent her threatening text messages the night of the attack. How do you- "

"He accessed her room prior to the murder. Check further back in the tapes, see who had visited her recently, and while you're at it have someone check that they haven't been tampered with. It would be so boring if this were just an ordinary killer who knew how to remove himself from the security footage. In the meantime, I will talk to this suspect."

He walked briskly to the interrogation room, where a man sat at the table facing the opposite wall. He turned when he heard Sherlock come through the door.

That face… He remembered it clearly now, that last look at the man in the moonlight, the man who had drowned Zachary Wells. It was him, and he was sitting here suspected of murdering someone else- someone, Sherlock remembered, that he couldn't possibly have murdered because he was miles away, by the lake…

Thrown off his game at last, Sherlock cleared his throat, determined not to lose his composure. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm here to ask you a few questions about what happened on Saturday night. Let's start with your name."

The man seemed nervous, but attempted a smile and held out his hand to shake.

"John Watson."


	2. Monday, Dec 14, part 2: The Interview

"Sorry- Mr. Holmes- what exactly is this about?"

"The murder of Callie Rogers, specifically the text messages you sent her on the night of the attack," Sherlock answered briskly, closing the door and sitting down.

"Oh right- those. Look, I think this is all a misunderstanding. Callie's my friend, we've been friends for a long time- or, or we 'were' friends, I guess. I was just mad that night."

"Mad about?"

"Well there was an… incident- sorry, I- I don't understand. Aren't you an officer? Don't you have a file or something?"

"I hardly think that's relevant but if you must know I am a consulting detective and I generally prefer to forgo a full briefing before I interrogate a suspect; it helps me think independently."

John looked bemused. "Why do they need a consulting detective for Callie's mur- um, for this investigation?"

"Because they are easily overwhelmed and I am excellent at closing cases for them, especially those which have little physical evidence."

"Well how do you do that?"

"Through deductive reasoning."

"Isn't that just sort of- I don't know, guessing?"

"In the five minutes we've been in this room, I've learned that you're a medicine student, that you have a sister, and that your father was a military man. You're unaggressive and you're still adjusting to the information that Callie is dead, which would suggest that you are not the man we're looking for. However, we do suspect that Callie was killed by someone she knew and most likely trusted, a friend such as yourself. Now, judging by how you keep avoiding the question you _do_ have a strong motive and as we've made it this far into the conversation without you telling me otherwise, I think it's safe to assume you _don't_ have a strong alibi. So you'd do well to cooperate with me, Mr. Watson."

"Um- wow. Ok- the truth is that Callie recently stole a paper I was working on and turned it in to one of her professors. She was a pharmacology major. She didn't tell me- I turned it in a week later and was accused of plagiarism."

"When did this happen?"

"About a month ago."

"And you haven't been expelled?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, actually, Callie came forward and admitted what she did. They decided to give her a zero for the assignment- they were still a little suspicious that it was me all along so they didn't expel her but…"

"But?"

"I didn't speak to Callie for a week after I was accused, but when she confessed, I finally asked her what made her do it. She wouldn't tell me exactly but the way she talked about it… it was almost like she wanted to be expelled. She just kept saying that she thought I'd turned the paper in first, that she never thought I'd be blamed- but she never said anything about getting away with it."

"Sounds like you patched things up. Why did you send those messages on Saturday?"

"Well I- I… I guess I was just… venting."

Sherlock paused for a moment, leaning back and steepling his fingers, giving John a chance to squirm. He was aware Lestrade was probably watching him, but he couldn't bear not to follow every lead.

"Where were you that night?"

"In my flat, all night. Alone," he admitted.

"No late-night trips to the lake?"

"The lake- wait, is this about Zach?"

Sherlock looked up from his notes sharply. "You _knew_ Zachary Wells, Mr. Watson?"

"Well of course I knew him, he was my flatmate. But I thought- they told me his death was an accident."

"So two people closely connected to you died mysteriously on the same night and you want me to believe that it's just a… coincidence?"

"Callie and Zach didn't even know each other- Zach and I were never close; we just kept to our own circles."

"All that tells me is that you are the link between them."

"I'm confused- earlier you made it sound like you thought I was innocent- now you think I killed them both?"

"Don't be ridiculous, the time frames would never allow that… I think you only killed Zach."

John opened his mouth but before he could say anything the door burst open.

"Sherlock- a word?" Lestrade said tensely.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but followed him out.

"What the hell was that?!" Lestrade demanded angrily.

"Did you know that Watson and Wells were flatmates?"

"Well, no, but-"

"And are you going to tell me that them both knowing him and dying on the same night isn't extremely suspicious?"

"Of course it's _suspicious_ but we don't have any evidence linking Watson to Wells's death or that Wells was murdered in the first place. He was drunk, there are no signs of a struggle…"

"Still, under the circumstances I think it would be best to investigate his death further."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock thoughtfully for a minute. He didn't believe him, but he did trust him. "Alright. I'll leave it as an open case for now. But I'm telling you, I doubt anything will come of it. I've no idea where you got the idea that Watson killed him, especially since he was a little preoccupied with murdering Callie Rogers at that time."

"I don't think he did," Sherlock said quietly.

"All the evidence points to it."

"The texts sent from his phone, you mean. To be honest, I'm not even convinced he really wrote those. Of course, I'll have to see them to be sure."

Lestrade sighed and led Sherlock back to his desk, opened a file and pulled out a page of the transcriptions:

 **John to Callie, 9:47 PM:** Look idk what you're up to rn but can I just be honest for once and say like really fuck you for that whole neuron paper thing

 **Callie to John, 9:49 PM:**?

 **Callie to John, 9:49 PM:** Are you drunk?

 **Callie to John, 9:50 PM:** I mean you have a right to be mad I guess but you aren't acting like yourself? And I thought we were ok?

 **John to Callie, 9:51 PM:** ok yeah right figures like u actually give a fuck about anyone else's feelings but ur own

 **John to Callie, 9:51 PM:** ur such a selfish bitch you just take whatever u want and dont give a fuck about how it affects any1 else

 **Callie to John, 9:52 PM:** John I'm so sorry- I really never meant for you to get into trouble. What I did WAS selfish and so stupid. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

 **John to Callie, 9:52 PM:** Honestly just die bitch

 **Callie to John, 9:53 PM:** John, please

 **Callie to John, 9:53 PM:** I don't want to leave things this way

 **Callie to John, 9:53 PM:** Look, I'm in my dorm room. Please come over? We can talk this out better face to face.

 **John to Callie, 9:55 PM:** I guess but I don't wanna hear your bs excuses again- I swear I should jst fuccking kill you & do the world a favor

 **John to Callie, 9:55 PM:** You were willing to kill my career, after all

 **John to Callie, 9:56 PM:** seems fuckin fair

 **Callie to John, 9:56 PM:** Please, John, you're scaring me

That was the last text on her phone. "That's interesting," Sherlock said lightly.

"Creepy, more like. Reading that, knowing that it was just a half hour before-"

"And this is definitely John Watson's number? Not just the contact she had in her phone?"

"No, we double checked."

"Hmm. I suppose that does make the case seem easy. John Watson was clearly angry, he goes in through the window to avoid the security cameras, stabs Callie Rogers, and returns home."

"You still haven't said how he'd come in through the window."

"Oh, honestly Lestrade, the only thing that keeps those dorm windows from opening all the way is a bit of metal that anyone with a screwdriver can take off. Most students remove them within the first week of term. Did you check the ones in Callie Rogers's room?"

"Of course we checked!"

"All of them?"

"One of them wouldn't open at all, but we already looked into it- it's been like that for nearly a week, Callie reported it to the residence staff."

"So it was probably a premeditated incident, yes…"

Lestrade had given up trying to follow Sherlock's jumps of logic, so he just nodded as if he was on the same page. "So Watson definitely could have done it?"

"It's entirely possible."

"Can I arrest him?"

"No."

"Because you really think that instead of killing this girl fifteen minutes after he threatened to, he killed his flatmate all the way across town?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Besides, all the evidence you have here is circumstantial." Sherlock began walking away, down the hall, clearly intent in his decision: "I'll need to investigate this more."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Planning to have the next chapter up on Monday, so until then, have a good weekend!**


	3. Monday, Dec 14, part 3: The Crime Scene

When they reached Callie's dorm room, Sherlock headed straight for the windows. He examined the two which opened partially. "Screws all bright and shiny- those have been freshly replaced," he noted. He pulled out a screwdriver he'd stopped to buy along the way, removed one of the metal track locks and opened the window all the way. Given that there was a ledge, Sherlock found it was pretty easy to climb out the window and step neatly onto the ground below. Still outside, he moved to investigate the window that wouldn't open at all.

"Jammed shut from outside," he called to the team staring at him from inside the room. He pulled out the jam, held it up for them to see, and found he was easily able to slide the window up and down; nothing prevented it from going up all the way. "Just as I suspected," Sherlock breathed smugly.

"Ok Sherlock, now you've proved your point, explain in human terms how Watson got in here," sighed DS Loman.

"Shouldn't do that. Leading investigators is one of the most problematic practices in the field of detective work. Our suspect will henceforth be referred to as 'the murder,' although feel free to spice things up with 'the killer' if that gets a bit dull for your easily distracted little minds."

"Hey-" Loman barked but was cut short but Lestrade.

"Just come out with it already."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, the murderer is someone who knows that Callie had her window stoppers out, so he knows getting in without being seen on camera will be easy. The problem is, how can he throw investigators off his trail? He wants to plan it so that he'll be able to make it look like he _didn't_ use the windows. So his primary concern is jamming one of the windows, but he has to be careful with timing. He needs the incident to be reported to maintenance, but not fixed."

"If Callie doesn't report it, then the investigation doesn't pass the stuck window off as a coincidence and it becomes evidence. It helps us figure out how the Killer got in," Lestrade understood. "But if it gets fixed…"

"His plan falls apart altogether. He could jam it again, or jam one of the others, but that would definitely raise suspicion, especially if he kept doing it in ways which where obviously intentional. Fortunately for him, all goes to plan. On the night of the murder, he removes the jam from the third window and is able to enter through any of the three as none are blocked in any way. He has now completed step one of his mission, which is get into Callie's room unseen. Once he reaches step three, leaving unseen, he simply replaces the track locks on the first two windows, exits out of the third, and then jams it again from the outside, hoping to convince detectives that the locks and the jam have been there the whole time."

"Sorry- what was step two?" someone called from the back of the small group of detectives.

"Well, murdering Callie Rogers, of course!" Sherlock scoffed, finally climbing back into the room.

"We already know how he did that- he stabbed her."

"Mm, yes, but he somehow managed to do so without allowing her to scream loudly enough to draw the attention of her neighbors." Without warning Sherlock shouted, "Help! Please, somebody help me!"

"What're you-"

Sherlock silenced him quickly with a wave of his hand and motioned that they should listen. All around them, they could hear doors opening from the other rooms. "Go on then, look outside."

In the hall, at least fifteen students were staring at Callie's room, most muttering as though they were trying to make a decision, while a few were already heading directly for them. "False alarm," Loman assured the kids, and they shuffled away, confused.

"A woman in real distress could have screamed much louder than that. However, the tape shows that no one so much as opened a door at the time of the murder. Callie didn't scream for help. This is why I believe that she knew and trusted her killer. A stalker may have been able to pull off the entry and exit, but if a stranger comes through a girl's window while she's in her room, she would be able to scream and run out before he got his footing inside. No, Callie let her killer in through the window. From there, he presumably began acting erratically, causing her to try to leave the room. At this point he catches her, stabbing her in the back before she screams."

Lestrade and the other detectives were looking at him strangely. "Callie was stabbed in her stomach, with some shallow defensive wounds on her arms and a postmortem slash to the face."

"She fought him? That means she saw the knife- why wouldn't she scream?" he mused. "Was she gagged?"

"It's possible but we couldn't find any evidence- we checked her mouth for fibers and there's no marks on her face to suggest that anything was tied around her head."

"Strange…"

As he pondered this newest mystery, Sherlock began searching the rest of the room. He started with the boxes under her bed, which only contained some shoes and purses, moved on to the wardrobe, and finally ended up in her desk drawers. There was no obvious evidence, but he did find her day planner.

"Slashing her face once she was already dead- this murderer was angry. He may have planned carefully, but I'm not sure such a person would have the patience to plan this for a long time. He would have wanted to take action as soon as possible. You said she reported the stuck window nearly a week ago- what day was it specifically?"

After flipping through his notes for a few seconds, Lestrade answered, "Tuesday. The eighth."

"He would've needed to plan a bit- and she didn't necessarily report right away- I'd say our killer started planning this somewhere from Saturday to Monday," Sherlock said, mostly to himself as he flipped to the corresponding pages in her planner. "Let's see… Saturday she went shopping with someone named Katie?"

"Her best friend. The one who found her body yesterday."

"Sunday she stayed in and did homework for most of the day, but spent the night with Katie again as well as John, presumably Watson but we should check to be sure, and someone named Marcus."

"That'd be Katie's boyfriend- he came to comfort her at the initial examination of the scene."

"And on Monday, it looks like she progressed through a normal day of classes and stayed in for the rest of the night. I would guess that whatever incident caused the killer to begin plotting happened on one of these events. Saturday will be the hardest to investigate. I don't think a stranger did this, so we'll have to ask Katie if they ran into someone they knew, without ruling out that Katie herself could be the killer- as could anyone from the small party on Sunday night, which we'll also ask Katie about, and hopefully the other two as well. If you can get me a copy of her class schedule and the list of students enrolled in each, I will personally talk to as many of them as possible tomorrow."

"We can do that. Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock brushed off the gratitude, instead continuing with his plan of action. "Her planner also mentions a blog which she appears to have updated regularly. I'm assuming her computer has already been taken into evidence- please have whoever's put in charge of it find her blog and email me the link. What she wrote in her last days could prove crucial."

Night was falling now. Sherlock finished looking through the drawers, though still nothing stood out to him. She seemed like a fairly ordinary college student, and he could think of no particular reason anyone would want her dead.

Part of him was slightly annoyed that the police had brought him in for such an ultimately mundane case. Once they worked out that the murderer had simply come through the window, they would most likely find their answer in whoever had a motive- although hopefully a better motive than 'almost got him expelled but didn't.'

Still, another part of him couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper here. It wasn't just the simultaneous murders or even that they were both connected to John Watson. There was another connection now- neither Callie Rogers or Zachary Wells had screamed, despite fighting their killer before the fatal incident occurred. What had stopped them? Maybe it wasn't just a coincidence that John Watson was a suspect in both crimes- Sherlock had deduced he was generally nonviolent- had he been tricked? Was Watson a serial killer, one who had a way of keeping his victims silent?

As left the scene, Lestrade approached him. "Just got off the phone- we had to let Watson go. You were right, evidence is circumstantial."

"That's alright. I didn't get the sense that he was someone who would try to do anything so stupid as trying to flee. He'll stay around," Sherlock said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He was a hard man to trick, but he was beginning to question himself when it came to John Watson.

If someone who appeared so unaggressive could murder, possibly more than once, what else could he fool Sherlock about?

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will be back to actual interaction between Sherlock and John- I'm hoping to have it to you guys by Thursday night/Friday. And yes, this is the last part of Monday the 14th! Reviews always appreciated ;)**


	4. Tuesday, Dec 15

**A/N: So, this is over a week late, sorry. But it is longer than the past chapters so... forgive me? Hope you like this chapter, and I'll really try to get the next one out in a reasonable amount of time.**

* * *

Sherlock got to Callie's first class early to speak with the professor. He had his questions prepared ahead of time and he asked each of her professors as the day went on. He even managed to hunt down professors she wouldn't normally see on a Tuesday.

 _Where did she sit? Who did she sit with? What was your opinion of her- as a student and as a person? Did anything about her change recently- her grades, her level of engagement, the things she said? Is there anything else you think is relevant? Are you sure?_

The professors were no help, but Sherlock hadn't much expected them to be. Unless Callie Rogers had been a passionate student, there was no reason for any of her professors to know much about her personally. They all said that Callie was a kind and popular girl, an average student in terms of grades, but making up for it somewhat with her willingness to participate. In short, she was boring. She was a pretty girl who generally sat with a group comprised mostly of other pretty girls. Two professors said that, _you know, now that you mention it_ she had been a little more withdrawn in class lately, and her grades had fallen a bit, seemingly due to a lack of effort. Most, however, glided over the last few questions, not wanting to become entangled in a police investigation.

He ran into the same problem each time he tried to talk to one of the friends she'd sit with. When he explained that he was helping the police with the investigation, they were touched and eager to thank him, but as soon as he tried to ask them questions, they suddenly had a class to run off to. Most of their answers were the typical platitudes one would expect in regards to a recently deceased acquaintance. _It's so unfair- she was so sweet and funny! No, I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her!_ As with the professors, a few could be persuaded to admit she was acting weird in the past few months. Outside of class, they maintained, she was her normal self, but she had stopped coming to class regularly and when she did come, she didn't seem invested in it.

Asking if she was seeing anyone did yield some interesting answers. No one was exactly sure, but they all admitted that Callie had a taste for the bad boys. Thinking that anyone under suspicion of two murders would qualify as a 'bad boy,' Sherlock asked if they knew anything about John Watson, but suddenly the trail went cold. Almost everyone he asked said that the two seemed to like each other as friends only. "I always thought he might be into guys," one of Callie's few male friends added.

"Any reason for that?"

The guy shrugged. "Mate, if I was good at telling which guys were straight and which weren't, I would save myself a lot of heartbreak."

Around noontime, the campus became chaotic as people went to lunch, flocking to the canteen or to find friends. Sherlock, who had finished most of the interviews he wanted to, decided to follow the crowd. Callie had eaten in the canteen, so that's where he should be. Besides, he was putting it all together in the 'evidence' room of his mind palace. Callie had stopped caring about her classes. He remembered what John had said about Callie stealing his paper- _"it was almost like she wanted to be expelled._ " The question was _why?_ Had a boyfriend pulled her into something dangerous? Was she depressed? Maybe she was afraid of one of her exes and was losing sleep over it?

He grabbed whatever food he didn't have to stand in line for and then glanced around at the tables, trying to see if any of the people he'd talked to had congregated somewhere. He wanted to make sure he didn't miss interviewing anyone his victim had eaten lunch with. As he was scanning, he heard a voice behind him call "Mr. Holmes? Is that you?"

He turned to see none other than John Watson himself waving at him, alone at one of the smaller, four-seat tables along the wall. Unsure of what else to do, Sherlock walked over to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Working on the investigation."

"Oh. Well, you can sit if you like," John said, clearly mistaking Sherlock's tray as a sign that he was on a break.

"I'm trying to find the group that Callie usually sits with for lunch."

"You found it," John said, kicking the chair across the table out to indicate that Sherlock should sit down. "We usually sit with our friends Katie and Marcus, but Katie wasn't ready to face classes yet, and Marcus is staying with her- y'know, to make sure she's okay."

"Those two keep coming up but I haven't met them. Seems they're avoiding the investigation."

"Poor Katie," John said, seeming genuinely unaware that Sherlock was implying suspicion rather than genuine concern. "She and Callie were best friends since high school- before that, maybe. She's absolutely distraught."

"You've talked to her, then?"

"A little. She says she knows I wouldn't hurt Callie- that it was probably some creep. I didn't tell her you thought it was a friend," he admitted.

"It is generally preferable that you don't divulge details of the case with anyone not affiliated with the investigation."

John looked at him with something resembling amusement for a second before asking, "How did you even get in here? It's only students and faculty."

"I _am_ a student."

"Here?!"

Sherlock showed him his student I.D.

"Strange we've never met before. I suppose you're not doing medicine, then? Or communications- I take some of those classes too?"

"I'm doing criminal justice, biology, and sociology." Sherlock listed them off with a touch of smugness in his voice, used to people being impressed by his exhaustive list of academic successes. Not that he was trying to impress John Watson- this conversation was meant to be purely interrogational. It was Watson who was bringing it off track.

"Wow. Well, what kind of biology classes are you taking? You'd think we'd cross paths in anatomy classes, at least."

"I don't necessarily _go_ to my classes. The point is to get the degrees. I'm focusing on learning Russian right now, actually."

"So what you just… show up to the finals?"

"I also write the papers sometimes- but this is off topic. I'm here to talk about Callie Rogers."

"What do you want to know?"

"Was she seeing anyone?"

"Not that I know of- but she wasn't very public about that stuff. She was never into serious relationships for some reason. I think she liked the excitement of seeing someone new- she always liked exciting guys, anyway. Katie would know better than I would."

"Were you ever involved with her in any way?"

"No, no I wasn't her type."

"When we last met, you mentioned something about her wanting to get expelled. Can you… elaborate on that? Was she behaving differently? Did she say anything?"

"No. If anything she seemed happier. She said a few times that she had a lot coming up but it's close to finals so that didn't seem out of the ordinary."

"…That's it?"

"I'm sorry, I really don't know too much. I have _no idea_ why anyone would want to do that to Callie. I wish I could help more."

"That's what I find strange, actually. Why _are_ you trying to help me? You're being awfully nice to someone who was just yesterday interrogating you under suspicion of murdering a close friend."

"Well, it's like you said yesterday. You're the only one who doesn't think I killed her. It's in my best interest."

"I still think you killed somebody."

"Zach? I figure I'll worry about that after all this stuff with Callie is done. Do you have any evidence- why do you even suspect me? It didn't seem like anyone else did."

"I have… significant personal reasons."

"Can you elaborate?" John asked, eyebrow raised, almost smirking at the opportunity to throw Sherlock's words back at him.

"This isn't a joke, Mr. Watson. _I saw you._ "

"You saw me when?"

"Drowning Zachary Wells! I saw it happen, alright?"

John stared at him for a minute. "I… I have a couple of problems with that, Mr. Holmes. The first, obviously, was that it didn't happen The second is that if you did see someone drowning someone else, why you wouldn't tell anyone about it?"

"I was… drunk. And I didn't really know what was what until I heard that someone really had drowned but then I remembered seeing your face… Look, I know it wouldn't hold up in court or anything, but I know what I saw and I intend to follow up on it."

"I think you just got confused. I didn't leave my flat on Saturday night."

"Well. I guess if that's true you have nothing to worry about."

"I guess not."

By now, John had finished his food. Sherlock still had half a sandwich and a bit of rice left, but his high was wearing off and he was anxious for an afternoon line. Maybe that was why this conversation kept getting derailed. His head kept getting confused- all the information he was getting connected- a girl who liked dangerous guys, a sudden disinterest in academics- but it didn't seem to go anywhere. And he'd never dealt with anyone quite like Watson, who asked questions back, questions about Sherlock himself, no less.

"I'm a busy man, Mr. Watson- if you don't mind we'll move quickly through these last questions."

"Sure- and you can call me John."

"Did anything big happen in the past week- maybe around last weekend? Fights, big news…?"

"No."

"And how much of Callie have you seen in that week?"

"Let's see- didn't see her last Saturday. We hung out with Katie and Marcus on Sunday. Monday it was just lunch, Tuesday we studied together- in the library- and then had dinner. Wednesday and Thursday it was just at lunch. And Friday- the night before it happened- I went out for drinks with a few other friends and ran into her and Katie there. They left at about eleven, though. Don't know if they went straight home."

"Was she drunk?"

"She had a couple of drinks, but she wasn't out of control. Katie was fine, she wasn't drinking."

"Alright. Let's go back to that Sunday. So you were-"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted. They looked up to see DS Loman standing beside the table.

"John Watson, you're under arrest under suspicion of the murder of Callie Rogers. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." He was grabbing John by the arm and pulling him up, attracting the attention of everyone else in the room.

"But yesterday you said I was free to go!"

"New evidence. Come on."

They walked off; Loman didn't acknowledge Sherlock once. Sherlock rushed to follow them, leaving his plate abandoned on the table. He couldn't get anyone's attention until he finally reached the police car parked at the front of campus, where Lestrade was waiting.

"What's going on?! Loman said something about new evidence?"

"We found the murder weapon in some bushes near the victim's dorm hall. Along with Watson's mobile."

"Were his fingerprints on the knife?"

"We've sent it to be tested. How did your questioning go?"

"Not too badly. Something was definitely going on with Callie- maybe her blog will help with that. I was talking to Watson again before you arrested him."

"Get anything useful?"

"On him? No. Do me a favor- ask him about that party on Sunday? Loman dragged him off before I could. I have a class…"

"No problem." He cuffed Sherlock on the shoulder amicably before walking back to the car, where Watson was already in the back seat. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sherlock," he called, getting into the driver's seat. "Rogers's funeral is on Friday, so if you want to examine the body yourself you should do it soon!"

Sherlock raised a hand in acknowledgement but otherwise watched impassively as they drove away. He was still anxious to get home and do a line or two, but there was one more thing he wanted to check. Usually he would get a cab, but the lake was in the middle of a park that you couldn't drive through.

It took him a half hour to walk from the university to the lake. He was working with a time frame of 10:00-10:30 with Callie, but he wasn't so sure about the time of Zachary Wells drowning. He could barely trust his account of what happened, he didn't want to set much store by his time frame. Maybe the drowning had happened earlier than he'd figured- or later, Watson might have been on his way _back_ from killing Rogers. Sherlock pulled out the address he'd pulled from Watson's file. It took another half hour to walk to his flat.

He didn't bother sneaking inside, but he noted the security camera by the building's front door.

" _Watson's building has cameras. Make sure to get the footage from Sat. night and let me know what time he left and when he came back -SH"_ he texted Lestrade.

After an hour of walking with no discernable trace of cocaine left in his system, Sherlock was exhausted and grumpy. He hailed a cab to take him the rest of the way home, wondering if it was time to consider John a suspect of both murders.


	5. Wednesday, Dec 16

**A/N: I won't bore you with excuses this time, just say sorry! Spring Break is next week, so hopefully you'll get the next chapter (and ideally, the 7th as well) pretty soon. This is another largely case/evidence-based chapter, so sorry if that's not your thing, but if it is, enjoy!**

* * *

"Was beginning to think you weren't coming," Lestrade said drily when Sherlock stalked in at a quarter to noon.

"I was indisposed," he said, which meant, _I was too high to set my alarm last night and subsequently woke up several hours late and feeling like shit._

"There's no one in the morgue now- they're all at lunch."

"All the better."

Lestrade let Sherlock into the morgue but turned to leave quickly- anyone would be slightly edgy alone in that cold, white room full of corpses. Anyone except Sherlock, it seemed. Before he closed the door behind him, he heard Sherlock call, "Did you take that statement from Watson?"

"Yeah. Had him write it out for you."

"Excellent. I'll have it as soon as I'm done here, then."

"You're welcome," Lestrade sighed tiredly as he walked away, knowing that was the closest thing to a 'thank you' he was ever going to get from Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock pulled the sheet off of Callie Rogers's corpse and looked at her the way he looked at every dead person (and many live ones): first, her death, then, her.

The inspectors had been right about her wounds: her arms showed signs of a struggle. She had defended her body with her left arm, but something about the pattern of cuts on her right arm suggested she was reaching out towards the attacker. Was she trying to wrestle the knife away? To take something else from him? Or maybe, if she knew him well enough… she was trying to reason with him.

The fatal stab to her stomach came quickly but imprecisely- the hallmark of a first-time killer full of rage.

And then the slash to her face- it always implied anger, hatred, but this was more specific. It was a vertical slash, from eyebrow to lip. It avoided her eyes- even in crimes of passion, humans are squeamish about eyes- but it was clearly targeting her features. Destruction of beauty.

There was also the faintest trace of a love bite on her neck- it looked slightly too old to be from the night she was murdered, but then again, it was recent enough to make out if one thought to look.

So she was seeing somebody- or hooked up with somebody, at least.

He kept that in mind as he looked over her body again, this time learning about her life. She was a religious user of skin care and cosmetic products. She didn't smoke or do drugs. She had been too thin as a teenager- possibly struggled with anorexia- but she had developed healthier eating habits and got a good amount of exercise through frequent yoga and cardio workouts. She usually wore a necklace with some sort of small, round pendant on it. She often wore high heels. She once had surgery- most likely to remove her appendix, given the location of the scar, but it wasn't safe to assume. In every inch of the body there lies a multitude of systems just waiting to go down and take their human host with them. Death wasn't surprising to Sherlock- living was.

He sighed as he covered the body up and left the morgue. He supposed that the love bite was an important discovery- but it was so faded, and there was always the chance it was just a strangely located bruise. It was coming up to half noon and he couldn't truthfully say he had learned anything new today.

"I'll take a look at Watson's story now."

Lestrade looked up from his desk. "Have you eaten?"

He hadn't. He was hungry and stressed enough that he was also craving another line of cocaine, even though his last one had been just two hours ago.

"Eating can wait."

"I'm not bringing you back into that morgue feet first, Sherlock. Go get something to eat, _then_ I will give you Watson's story," Lestrade said, masking his concern with a severe tone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but was too tired and sullen to argue. He got a sandwich from the nearest café and was back at Lestrade's desk in record time. "I can eat while I work."

"Fair enough," he replied, handing him a page of handwritten text.

Sherlock found an empty interrogation room and sat down at the table. He noticed it was the same one where he'd first met John Watson two days ago, and yet it so reminded him of yesterday- sitting with him (or at least, his writing) while eating a sandwich and trying to subdue the narcotic urges. _We need to stop meeting this way_ , he thought.

He unwrapped his sandwich and started reading.

Watson's Recount: Sunday, December 6th

 _I got to the house at around seven o'clock and was greeted at the door by Marcus. He led me to the living room, where Katie and Callie had taken over the couch. They were in t-shirts and sweatpants with their hair up in those high, messy buns- it made them look young, especially with how they were giggling. They looked more like thirteen year olds at a slumber party than two grown women, one of whom is five months pregnant (Did I forget to tell you that Katie's pregnant? I remember you asking about her but I think I forgot- sorry). I mean all that in a good way- they just made everything seem so calm and fun, it was like being really young again. It feels good to remember Callie like that- so happy and carefree._

 _I can't remember everything we talked about over dinner, but it really wasn't anything important. Classes and work and all the usual stuff. Katie recommended a movie- something American, I think. Callie ranted for a bit about a lab partner she found obnoxious- but in a funny way, just telling stories. The girls_ _are_ _were always the life of the party._

 _After dinner we talked about Katie's baby shower for a while- Callie wanted to make sure everything was right. She tried to get Marcus involved too, but he said guys didn't go to showers, which is a shame, actually- it sounded kind of fun. Katie wanted tacos and karaoke- and Cassie kept threatening to make it a surprise party. Katie hates surprises. She actually said at one point that the part she was most scared of was when she was so far along that the baby could come 'at any moment;' we thought that was funny. Callie said she hoped the she (the baby- it's a girl by the way) came earlier rather than later though, that she couldn't wait to meet her and buy her clothes and watch her grow up… and Marcus kept talking about getting the nursery ready… sorry, I think I'm just rambling. I don't think any of this could be useful, it's just that, I guess this is easiest to remember because it's sad to think about it now, knowing that Callie won't be there. Hell, maybe I won't be there- things aren't looking good for my case, are they?_

 _We had the TV on in the background, but I don't remember what we were watching. We each had a couple drinks throughout the night (except Katie, of course), but we weren't drunk. I did notice Marcus got a little quieter towards the end, but eventually he told us he had a headache, so that was probably it. Callie and I left to let them get some rest._

 _As hard as I try, I can't think of her saying anything odd to me as we left, either. I'm pretty sure she just said "Bye, have a good night, see you tomorrow"- that kind of thing._

 _If anything important happened that night (or at all this week), I didn't notice it. I'm really sorry. If there's anything else I can do… it's not just about proving myself innocent. I really want to find whoever did this to her. She was such a bright, wonderful person_

It ended there- no punctuation or final sentiment about how tragic her death was. Sherlock sighed. Figures, with his luck today, that there was nothing useful in the story. Then again, he had asked the main suspect, so he couldn't really expect this to be fully truthful. Guilty or innocent, Watson wasn't going to admit to anything incriminating, especially now that he'd officially been taken into custody.

He found himself analyzing the letter itself. He'd read plenty of written testimonies, but never one that was this informal. And addressed to Sherlock directly- 'I remember you asking about her,' and it was conversational- 'sorry, I'm rambling,' 'it's a girl by the way.' He even became personal when he talked about Callie and her loss. The abrupt ending also implied being overcome with emotion… but was all of this genuine? Any of it? Was John Watson as friendly and earnest as he seemed? Or was he trying to manipulate Sherlock? And if he was smart enough to do that- well, wouldn't he be smart enough to see what Sherlock was? How could anyone believe that cold-hearted, unlikeable Sherlock was capable of sympathy?

"How's it going?" Lestrade asked from the doorway, nearly making him just out of his skin.

"How's it bloody look like it's going?" Sherlock snapped. "We haven't learned anything today."

"Why do you always assume my team and I aren't making progress?"

"Have you got anything today, then?"

"Well, _no_ , but-"

"Stop!" he interrupted, physically wincing. "I don't have time to be amused right now. Can we move this ludicrous conversation to a later date? I promise I will have hour after hour of quick remarks about how extensively _dim-_ "

" _Hey!_ We couldn't get anything today because Watson is insisting on talking to _you_. And we were the ones who found the weapon and the phone yesterday."

"Mmh- any news on that?"

"No prints on the knife, but I don't think it'll matter. Watson sent the texts, he has no alibi even though footage shows him leaving his apartment about a half hour before the crime- thanks for the tip, by the way- and now his mobile is found with the knife? I'm thinking this is almost over."

"I suppose. Had they already checked those bushes before they found the weapons?"

"Yeah- I guess he got scared once he realized we suspected him and dumped them."

"But don't you think it's weird? Up until now he's been so careful and all of a sudden he just leaves evidence at the scene of the crime while police activity is so high? Why wouldn't he just throw it into some random dumpster?"

"I don't know. Maybe the stress of the investigation is getting to him."

"Hey Lestrade? Did anything about the crime scene strike you as odd?"

"Depends on what you mean by odd- was there something specific that bothered you?"

"Yes, but I'm concerned that I'm overthinking it. I sometimes have difficulty getting into the mindset of someone… normal."

"Alright. What is it?"

"What was the purpose of making it appear as if the windows in Callie Rogers's room didn't open? Why go to the trouble? I mean, as long as you're careful not to leave fingerprints or be seen, knowing that you came in through the window doesn't tell the police much. Clearly it doesn't, or we wouldn't be so stuck. Why did the killer want us to think he didn't use the window?"

"Distract us for a while, I guess."

"He put a lot of work into it for it to just be something to play with our heads. To me… it feels like he wanted to make us believe something. We were supposed to… I don't know, come up with a different theory."

"Before we could figure out how he got in, a couple people thought it could be a ghost."

"That would never hold up for long though." Sherlock was muttering now, already in the process of blocking out Lestrade and diving into his mind palace. Something here was off. What did he have? _The crime scene… the texts… everything Watson had told him… what other students had told him… the phone and the knife… She didn't scream- no, not that. Katie was pregnant- irrelevant for now- the mobile phone. The texts…._

"I think John Watson's being framed," he said, as suddenly as it came together in his brain.

There were a few long moments of silence in the room while Lestrade worked out what to say. "Listen, Sherlock… we really appreciate you helping us out all the time…"

"Spare the pleasantries, please. I already know that everyone thinks that I'm unpleasant and a freak, all right? I've heard those things my entire life and they don't bother me anymore. All that matters is that I'm the unpleasant freak that you _believe_."

"I can't, Sherlock. Are you still fixed on this Zachary Wells thing?"

"But it all fits," he said, yanking the file out of Lestrade's hand and rifling through it until he found the transcript of the texts. "John Watson didn't write these messages. Whoever did tried to make it sound like him, but they slip up whenever they get angry. Look: 'can I just be honest for once and say like really fuck you for that whole neuron paper thing;' that's the way Watson would text. But 'I swear I should jst fuccking kill you & do the world a favor.' That's sloppy because the killer wrote it and he was too angry to mimic Watson's writing style."

"Well, maybe Watson was just so angry that he couldn't type straight."

"But look at this one- "You were willing to kill my career, after all…" This one even has proper grammar- the person who wrote this wasn't angry about his or her career- they have no emotional attachment to that idea. They had a different motive and instead of arguing, we should be trying to figure out what it is! Why else would we find Watson's mobile so easily- whoever used it to send these still had it. They _wanted_ us to find it."

"If all that's true, then why wouldn't Watson mention he'd lost his phone?"

"I… don't know. We can ask him."

"No, we can't. He's obviously going to say he lost it if you give him the chance to. He's already been arrested."

"Well, you can let him go."

"Not this time, Sherlock. You might be right, but I can't take that chance- we've already let him go and brought him back in once. It'll look bad if it becomes a cycle."

"Who cares about how it looks? Are you willing to hold an innocent man in custody to preserve your image?"

"He _might_ be innocent. I'm willing to hear out your theory, but I need actual evidence. You should know that! I mean, what's with you these days? You hate it when people get theories so stuck in their heads that they can't see around them; now you have a hunch that Watson killed Wells and you're letting it affect your judgment of this investigation!"

"I am doing no such thing!"

"You are! And you're acting differently. I mean, you were always an arsehole, but it used to be because you cared about the cases. Now you're showing up late, keeping information to yourself… and you look terrible. Is something going on?"

"My personal life is no business of yours unless it affects my deductive abilities. I assure you my tardiness was a one-time indiscretion-"

"Why do you do that, Sherlock? How come every time somebody wants to help you you just hide behind bigger words? I know you're always the smartest person in the room, but that doesn't mean that no one else could understand your problems."

For a split second, he thought about coming clean. The words were right there: _I'm addicted to cocaine, and I think it's getting worse._ Because to be honest, Sherlock _was_ worried about it. But Sherlock always put the case first, and it would drive him crazy to not see this one through to the end. No matter how 'understanding' Lestrade claimed to be, he'd never let Sherlock continue working if he found out about his drug habit.

So instead, Sherlock sneered. "Touching sentiment, but I'm fine. If you really wanted to help me, you could release Watson. He'd be more help to me that way, especially at the funeral. He knows everybody, he can tell me if anyone's acting odd."

Lestrade considered this. "I'll make you a deal. I'll hold him until Friday morning so he can accompany you to the funeral. After that, we'll reevaluate the evidence and decide whether or not to take him back into custody. Sound fair?"

"I suppose," Sherlock said tiredly. His hands were starting to shake.

"Good. Now, unless there's anything urgent you need to see to, I suggest you head home. I wasn't kidding when I said you looked terrible."

Sherlock sighed and let his head fall back. He knew that he should try to work some more- interrogate Watson again, at least. But he was tired and more importantly, he was jonesing. "Alright. See you tomorrow then?"

"Sure- but just so you know, the tech guys sent you the link to Rogers's blog this morning. You can work on that from home, so you can just show up when you're done looking through it."

This was meant to be a sign of forgiveness- _don't worry about being late, because even if you won't let me help you, I'm not really mad._ Predictably, Sherlock brushed it off. "I'm a fast reader, Lestrade. I'll have it done in no time." And with no further farewells he turned, leaving the station with his head down and walking briskly, in a hurry to get home to his bed and his coke stash.


	6. Thursday, Dec 17: Day

**A/N: I'm so sorry that this took so long to get out- some stuff went down in life, but I'm back baby! I hope you like this chapter- and don't worry, the next few chapter will have John and Sherlock together!**

* * *

Sherlock sat on the floor of his living room, back against the couch with his computer on the table in front of him. He checked the clock (10:27 AM) and allowed himself a moment to tilt his head back and rub his eyes. He'd been reading Callie Rogers's blog all day, and had a moderate amount to show for it. Most was information about her personality, which he noted down in case it became relevant. He had been interested to see how much she revealed about her life- her schedule, her address, people she was close to. He'd been pleasantly surprised, for the most part. She didn't give a location more specific than 'England,' she never mentioned specific classes or what times she was busy, and the only specific person she ever mentioned was Katie, and by first name only. That said, it would have been nice if she had named her boyfriends. The posts in which she referenced them were the most helpful, but she only referred to them with nicknames- usually a feature. Coffee-Shop Guy, Tattoo Guy, etc. The most recent one had been 'Motorcycle Guy'- well, the second to last one, really. As Sherlock had suspected, she'd been seeing someone new in the past month- and this one wasn't given a silly nickname. She talked about him in a completely different way. She was vague but made definite references to a future together- she was completely in love.

He read through her last posts, but all four entries from December were totally useless. All she had posted in the week leading up to her murder was a list of lipstick recommendations and a review of an eye shadow palette, and Sherlock was even more eager to solve this case so he could justifiably delete this ridiculous information from his brain.

He sighed and turned back to the posts with actual clues. He had selected three (and an excerpt from a fourth) to print and add to the file: the first was about the breakup with the Motorcycle Guy and the others referenced the new boyfriend.

" **Breakup Makeup," Posted Tuesday October 20** **th** **, 8:02 PM**

 _Well, I've mentioned it on Twitter already, but 'Motorcycle Guy' is out of the picture. Such a shame- I really liked that bike._

 _It wasn't the most disastrous split I've ever had (longtime readers will remember 'Beach Guy' from a few summers ago-_ that _was messy!). Still, I don't think I need to explain that it always hurts to lose someone. So I guess I'm just feeling that silly sort of morose where you know you're alright but you can't shake the feeling that something's off. If you ever get like this, I always recommend talking it out with good company, and since Katie's been crazy busy lately, I thought I'd check in with you guys! Especially since I get comments all the times from girls going through breakups and asking for my best cures for heartbreak._

 _You guys all know that I'm no stranger to ditching and being ditched by men. And while I mostly keep them nameless to you, they're all real people and I have important memories with all of them. I may have laughed off dumping 'Beard Guy' last year as 'an excuse to avoid buying him a Christmas gift,' but in reality, I did it because I knew he liked someone else, someone who could make him happier than I could. My point here is that no matter how it ends, it's tough._

 _Of course, there's no right way to deal with it and each experience is unique, but there's no reason to to neglect the classics: ice cream, pajamas, movies. However, I do think there's some merit to 'look good, feel good' mentality in these cases, especially if you're forced to leave your comfort nest and emerge into the real world. So, for those of you who do like to wear makeup in these situations, here's some suggestions:_

 _Concealer: Maybe you're a crier, maybe not, but if news gets around people will look, so make sure your eyes look FRESH ;)_

 _Eyeliner: I don't recommend intricate_ _eyeliner for the emotionally fragile- the frustration can set you over the edge. But if you're careful, you could channel your pain into a cool emo-chic look lol_

 _Lipstick: Something bold! Guy or no guy, you are fun, confident, and happy. Remember that._

 _I realize this is all a little silly, but in terms of actual, terrible heart-break, the hard truth is that there's not much makeup or an early-twenties-aged blogger can do for you. My one suggestion is smell: even if you can't smell him on your clothes, skin, sheets, whatever, make sure to cover yourself in some sort of soap or lotion with a distinct scent. It's not just about getting rid of him- it's so that you can smell yourself and remember that you're your own person, you can exist independently. Sounds weird, but it helps._

 _Lots of love and luck,_

 _Callie xoxo_

Sherlock didn't truthfully have any theories about 'Motorcycle Guy,' and Callie didn't seem afraid of him at all, but he made a note to look into whether any people connected to the case ever owned a motorbike. Her language was consistent with the rest of her posts- casual, bright, warm. It wasn't a desperate signal for help- it was posted exactly when her normal schedule dictated. It was always Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight. He had expected her to post something urgent close to her death- to let everyone know something was off, to ask for advice. But there was nothing other than her normal weekly entries; even the more emotionally significant ones followed this pattern. He picked up the one where she introduced the new guy.

" **Life Update 27," Posted Thursday November 12** **th** **, 7:59 PM**

 _Listen, guys, I never meant for this to be a tell-all or even lifestyle blog. That being said, posting here and interacting with you guys has really changed my life and I sometimes find it therapeutic to get some of my feelings out on this platform where I have at least some degree of anonymity. I never want to overshare and to be perfectly honest I'm not so sure talking about this is a good idea. But I can't help it- I'm too excited!_

 _I've been seeing someone lately who's so different from the guys I've gone out with in the past. It doesn't make sense- maybe it's not even right- but (and I don't have a non-cliché way to say this) I've never felt this way before. Yes, ladies, the unconquerable Callie has fallen in love. How trite. How tragic- well, not for me, hopefully. But believe you me, it's complicated. You'll forgive me the vagueness of this post, but we're keeping things quiet for now- I don't want anyone's feelings to get hurt, and and to be honest, I'm not entirely sure which people from my life know about this blog…_

 _But I won't tease you with hints or brag about my dramatic and passionate affairs. I just want to share with you how happy I am and to hopefully remind you that there really is someone for everyone. It may not be who you expect, but if I've learned one thing from all of this, it's that life can have some really funny ways of bringing people together._

 _Talk to you soon,_

 _Callie xoxo_

And then, more than a week passed until he was even mentioned again.

 **Excerpt from "Answering Some Qs!," Posted Tuesday November 24** **th** **, 8:05 PM**

… _Glossygal asked: "How are things going in your new relationship? You sounded so happy, it made my day!"_

 _Thanks for asking, glossygal! Things are still amazing and yes, I'm happier than ever before!_

 _While we're on the topic, KellyH asked, "I know you don't like to get detailed, but could you elaborate on the 'it's complicated' situation you mentioned in your last Life Update? Not trying to pry, just want to make sure you're ok. I've fallen for the wrong guy more than once and I don't want to see you getting hurt! Love your blog, girl!"_

 _I understand totally, Kelly! I know I kind of left you hanging on that detail, and your question is very sweet! I should have clarified that my relationship itself is wonderful and totally healthy- the only problem is that we both have certain friends who wouldn't exactly be thrilled about it. I think that's as specific as I can be… sorry! But please don't worry; if anything, life is just a bit more interesting now, and I will keep you updated. But for now, next question…_

But even that little section seemed to conflict with the first entry. Right now, Sherlock was working with the idea that the mystery guy was someone already involved- so Zach, Marcus, or maybe John. From the November 12th post, it had seemed like Marcus. It would explain the comment that people's feelings might get hurt if they knew and the one about strange ways of getting together. But now it seemed more like Zach- and John could be the one who'd be angry if he found out they were together.

But maybe he just wanted it to be Zach to finally tie the two murders together. Maybe Lestrade was right. Maybe he was twisting the evidence to suit his beliefs.

Finally, he picked up the last page he had printed; the most damning of them all.

" **Some Updates (School, Relationship, etc.)," Posted Thursday, November 26** **th** **, 8:00 PM**

 _Okay- I have a couple things to cover today, so I'm going to start with an apology for putting up a second non-beauty post this week. I know some of you prefer I stick to the makeup, but I think this is important to share with you so you understand what's going on._

 _First, as we move into December, it's time I issue the annual statement about final exams. I will continue my regular schedule for the first two weeks of the month, and I_ hopefully _will be able to give you at least a little something on Tuesday the 15_ _th_ _, but I won't be able to post on Thursday the 17_ _th_ _because I'll be too busy._

 _On a related and more serious note: after I finish finals, I'll be taking a semester off, and though I'm planning to return to my studies next year, it will most likely be at a different university._

 _As I said on Tuesday, I don't want to get too detailed about my love life, but since you guys are smart enough to figure out that it's playing a big role in this decision, I think it's best to be honest. To put your mind at ease, I'm not running off to get married and be a housewife! We just thought we could both use a little time away from everyone else to figure out the future. I know we haven't 'been together' as a couple for that long, but when it's love it's love, right? Okay, I know it sounds stupid, but trust me, I'm not in any kind of trouble. It's not a traditional route, I know, but it seems sometimes you have to break from tradition to find happiness._

 _I think that's it for now. I promise that it I'll stick to beauty-related content for the next month at least! Have a great weekend everyone!_

 _Love,_

 _Callie xoxo_

Obviously, he had to find whatever man she was planning on running away with, whether it was John Watson, Marcus, or an entirely new player in this little game. How to go about it?

He could look into who read her blog, but it didn't sound like she went out of her way to share it with her friends. He would probably have to try asking her friends again, but maybe the best friend, Katie would know. Really, he should get in contact now, but everyone would be at the funeral tomorrow, and there was something else that he desperately wanted to do.

He'd had so little time to research the Zachary Wells case…

He sent a quick text to Lestrade ("Finished blog. Doing more research but will send a report by tonight- SH.") and then sat in front of his computer and started looking up Wells.

His father had left before he was born, but he had an older brother, and an older half-brother as well. His mother had raised them, but was currently in a retirement home. She had Alzheimer's, but it hadn't progressed too much as of yet. The half-brother was a high school teacher who'd been recognized as outstanding a few times- raising test scores, commitment to the community, etc. The biological brother, on the other hand, was serving time in prison for several counts of larceny and one assault with a deadly weapon. So where did Zachary fall on the spectrum?

Blood won out, it seemed. A background check found two arrests for possession with intent to distribute, and when he hacked in to a sealed juvenile file, he found one more.

Not that Sherlock had any right to judge, he supposed.

Still, it would be useful to know whether he was an actual dealer; intent to distribute just meant he'd been carrying a certain amount when he was caught. The drugs themselves varied. When he was seventeen, it was meth. Next time, cocaine and a few pills. The third time, a little bit of everything.

In addition to being fairly attractive, he must have been charming. He wouldn't be let off with a fine more than once unless he convinced them he was another middle-class uni student who would clean himself up in a few years, take a job at his family's business, and start a perfect little family.

Drugs could actually be helpful. Sherlock himself only bought directly from a manufacturer he trusted, but it shouldn't be so hard to get in contact with any local dealers or addicts.

Wells was generally a C student, because he had the mind of a B student but did the work of a D student. Online pictures, unsurprisingly, showed him at frequent parties with a changing cast of characters.

It took him an hour and a half, but he hunted down the phone number of the half-brother and the girl who appeared most frequently in the photos. He wrote them down, but there was a chance they'd be eating dinner, and interviews like these required some degree of etiquette.

Instead, he typed out what he'd learned from Callie's blog along with some theories and a course of action. He mentioned that Zach could be the man she was leaving school for and included some of the background he'd found. He emailed what he had and considered eating himself, but he wasn't hungry. He treated himself to a few lines of coke instead.

He was lying on the sofa, riding the high, when his phone rang. Lestrade.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, hi, I got your report. Good work. I think it's really going to help the investigation."

"Is that what you called for?"

There was an audible sigh before he continued, "No, I just thought you might like to know that we're releasing John Watson a night early so that he can attend the funeral tomorrow, as agreed. I'm requiring he be accompanied by an officer at all times- unless you want to do it."

"Why would you think I'd want to do it?"

"Well, you were the one who wanted him let go. You said you had questions for him."

"Right. Where is he now?"

"Here at the station, waiting for an escort to be assigned."

"I'll do it. On my way."

John Watson looked a little scruffier after a few days without showering or changing clothes, but he seemed alright. He perked up when he saw Sherlock, at least.

"Don't let him out of your sight, Sherlock," Loman advised. "Anything he does is your responsibility."

"Understood. Come on, John."

It wasn't until they were out of the station that John spoke to him. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Asking them to release me. Offering to be my guard."

"Lestrade would have sent someone else if I hadn't volunteered."

"Yeah, but I prefer you."

Sherlock snorted. "Trying to establish a defense, are you? 'Innocent by reason of insanity?'"

John laughed but said, "You know, you're not nearly as unpleasant as you think you are."

"The number of people who would disagree with you could populate a small country."

"Either way," he answered as a cab pulled up. "I'm glad I'll be with you."

And with that, they sped off towards John's flat.


End file.
